Deacon had come over to her apartment earlier in the week. “I have a huge favor to ask you,” he’d said.
“Anything,” she answered. Obviously.
“You might want to know what I need before you sign up.” He had smiled that smile Lily knew would convince her of just about anything.
He went on. “There’s this thing. Event. Shindig.”
Lily held up her hand. “Hold on,” she said. “Give me a second to process the fact that you just used that word.”
He started to speak again, but she kept her hand up, making him wait.
Finally, she said, “All right. Shindig. Continue.”
He shook his head. “It’s the annual firm banquet. They do a Christmas family thing and a summertime family thing, but this is the big formal event.”
“Okay.” Lily wasn’t one hundred percent certain he was asking her to be his date, but she one hundred percent hoped he was. She pictured herself zipping herself into a dress far more elegant than anything she got to wear regularly. Not that “more elegant” was much of a leap when “regular” meant scrubs or yoga sweats. But she pictured something sleek. Something with a little sparkle to it.
“For the last few months,” Deacon said, “I was pretty sure I was just going to skip it, but the partners are making it clear that skipping it is unacceptable. So. Um.”
She loved the way he scratched the back of his neck when he was nervous.
“Would you consider coming with me? Like, as my, uh, companion?”
She felt an uncomfortable heat wash up her chest and neck. Companion? Like a guide dog? Like a hired assistant? Was it so horrible to consider her a date?
She didn’t answer him, and he didn’t keep asking. The room was very quiet, only the hum of her fridge and a clock ticking.
Finally, he cleared his throat and ran his fingers over his jaw. “Okay, well, don’t worry. Please don’t feel bad. I understand.”
A nervous laugh broke out of her. “You understand? Good thing. Because I don’t. What just happened? You uninvited me to your firm dinner?”
“I didn’t mean that.”
Gathering courage in an inhale, she looked at him. “It almost sounded,” she said, picking up a pen from the counter and twisting it in her fingers, “and I almost dared to hope that you were asking me on a date.” She felt unable to meet his eye, but she looked at the wall just above his shoulder.
There went his hand to the back of his neck again. “I was.”
She laughed, relief mixing with a rising anticipation. Leaning closer to him, she whispered, “You’re not very good at it.”
His sigh sounded like the first real breath he’d drawn that night. “I’m a little out of practice.”
“We can fix that,” she said, leaning back against the counter. “Try again.”
“Are you serious?” he asked.
She gave him a stone-faced look. “Don’t I look serious?”
“Can you come to my stuffy, formal work event with me?” he said, gritting his teeth in an almost-smile.
She tipped her hand from side to side. “Not quite there. One more try.”
He sighed, pretending to be exasperated. Or maybe he really was. She didn’t care. This was fun.
He stepped in front of her and took her hand in both of his. The shiver that ran up her arm might have been visible. He squared his shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Lily, nothing would please me more than to have you by my side at the firm dinner. I would be honored if you’d consent to be my date.”
And now, five days, one pedicure, three dress changes, and several averted “anxiety moments” later, it was time. Deacon was on his way to pick her up for a real, actual date. She checked her teeth in the mirror. Clean.
Nancy Anne, her supervisor at the hospital, had asked for a picture, so she snapped a couple of shots of herself in the dress, a shimmering deep purple that gave the impression of glitter without any actual bling.
When she heard the knock at the door, her stomach gave a thump of equal parts anticipation and fear. Well, maybe a little more anticipation than fear.
She opened the door and Deacon stood there, that perfect Calhoun hair, that immaculately fitted tuxedo, that nervous smile. He did a double take when he looked at her and leaned slightly forward.
“Wow,” he said. “You look magnificent.” He managed to say it without any surprise, and he didn’t break eye contact, even when he handed her the gorgeous bouquet of flowers he’d been holding.
“These are lovely,” she said, aware that her voice held a little more air than usual. “Come in real quick and I’ll put them in water.” She turned and walked into the kitchen, glad to have her back to him for a few seconds. Why couldn’t she catch her breath? She wasn’t surprised to see him looking so perfect. Looking perfect was kind of Deacon’s thing. But something in the way he looked at her gave her the feeling that he really saw her tonight. Not just the hair and the dress, but all of her, inside and out.
The drive to Belmond, the refined hotel where the Calhouns’ firm held its dinner, was awkward enough to remind Lily that she was, in fact, on a first date. She tried to make casual small talk, but every time she looked at Deacon and saw him glance at her, she felt the weight of her own hope pressing against her and stealing her words. At a red light, he turned and looked at her, his eyes on her face. He moved his mouth like he wanted to say something, but the light turned green and he reached for the shifter. He missed. As his hand grazed her knee, she felt that shudder of electricity again.
Keep it together, she told herself. It was an accidental knee graze.
But she couldn’t deny how nice it felt.
Pulling up to the valet stand, Deacon met her eyes again. “Ready for this?”
“Are you kidding?” she said. “I’ve never been more ready to accompany you to an event you don’t want to go to. This is going to be amazing.”
The valet opened her door and offered his hand. Nothing electrical there, she noticed.
Deacon came around the car, and she put her hand in the bend of his arm. Because of the heels, she told herself. So I don’t stumble, she told herself. That’s all, she told herself. But when he reached across and squeezed her fingers with his other hand, she knew she’d been lying to herself. For all the times, millions of times over the years, that they’d touched each other, bumped into each other, wrestled, hugged, something was different now.
Everything was different now.
The room was filling with people from Deacon’s firm, and Lily kept her hand on Deacon’s arm as they walked through the room. She smiled when she recognized Harper Day from the . . . well, the event planner. Harper’s eyes fell to where Lily’s hand rested on Deacon’s sleeve. The other woman’s eyes widened the tiniest bit before she shot her an approving smile and made a subtle way-to-go gesture before she turned her attention to a waiter.
Lily blushed, but fortunately Deacon didn’t notice. He introduced her to a few people, and it didn’t get weird until they reached the table they were assigned—across from his parents, Melanie and Everett. Deacon shook his dad’s hand and kissed his mom on the cheek. Lily had eaten countless meals at the Calhoun home. She’d slept in the backyard hundreds of weekends of her childhood. But somehow, she didn’t know how to say hello tonight.
Melanie stepped over to her, pulling her away from Deacon. Lily’s hand suddenly felt cold.
Leaning up to kiss Lily on the cheek, Melanie said, “Hi, honey. I’m glad you’re here tonight.” She cupped the side of Lily’s face in her hand. “This is all a little strange, isn’t it?”
Which part was strange? What did she mean? Was she disappointed that Lily was here with Deacon? All the possible meanings of the words she didn’t say weighed heavy in Lily’s ears.
She could stand there worrying about Melanie’s subtext, or she could behave in the way she was raised to. “You look beautiful, Miss Melanie. I love your dress,” Lily said, and that was the right thing, apparently, because Deacon’s mom shook
her head in a ‘this old thing’ gesture and started telling a long and detailed story about the dress she was supposed to be wearing tonight and the various tiny disasters that led to this second choice.
Nodding and smiling and making small noises of sympathy came more naturally as the story went on. Lily’s heart rate had nearly returned to normal when she felt Deacon step beside her and take her hand.
He didn’t say anything to her. His dad was talking to him about something Lily didn’t pay attention to. She was still nodding at Mrs. Calhoun’s story. Everything was the same. And everything—everything—was different.
Here she stood in the ballroom of this fancy hotel, wearing a fabulous dress, making small talk, and holding Deacon Calhoun’s hand.
Someone called for everyone to take their seats, and Deacon let go of Lily’s hand to pull out her chair. When he’d seated himself beside her, he shifted to better see the speaker at the front of the room. It might have been an accident that the move brought his chair closer to hers. But it probably wasn’t an accident that he draped his arm over the back of her seat. And she couldn’t imagine it was an accident when he brushed his hand across her neck and fingered the loose curl trailing down her back.
If anyone had asked Lily to report what was said that evening, she couldn’t have done it. The speeches washed over her as she sat inside the curve of Deacon’s arm. She didn’t want to move, because she didn’t want him to move. She wasn’t sure she even wanted to breathe.
At the end of a speech, Deacon moved his arm to applaud. She added her polite clapping to the rest, sure that the moment had passed. But as the next speaker stood, Deacon’s arm came back around her shoulders.
She was certain she could get used to this.
After the speeches ended, dinner was served. Deacon shifted his chair again, this time so he could face the table. Lily felt the loss of his touch immediately, until he moved so close that his leg leaned against hers. He put his napkin in his lap and smoothed it, letting his hand linger on her knee for a few heart-racing seconds.
He had to know what he was doing to her. Nobody did things like this on accident. But she couldn’t simply sit here and wait for him to touch her, could she? As salads were placed in front of them, she picked up a fork and speared a small bite. Her other hand found Deacon’s leg under the table. She felt his muscle tense under her hand, and then his knee pressed against hers.
“Delicious salad,” Deacon said, and his mother answered with a comment about the caterer that reminded her of a story. She talked to the table as a whole, gesturing and laughing. Lily smiled and didn’t hear a word. Her heartbeat thrummed in her ears and she had no intention of trying to change that.
When Deacon put his fork down, his hand slipped over the back of her chair again. He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “This isn’t nearly as bad as I worried it would be.” His other hand slid on top of her fingers under the table. “In fact, I’m enjoying myself.”
“I’m kind of enjoying yourself, too,” Lily whispered back, twining her fingers with his.
Chapter Ten
Deacon understood that dating rules required (or at least suggested) waiting twenty-four hours before calling. He couldn’t wait ten minutes after he woke the next morning.
He knew Lily had a shift at the hospital, so he sent a text.
Good morning. Thank you again for making last night so much more wonderful than I had any reason to expect it to be.
He tried not to stare at his phone obsessively for the next several hours.
He failed.
When she answered, her text said, Any chance you’ll be hungry after seven?
Always a very good chance, he responded. Can I meet you?
I’ll come to your place. And I’ll bring dinner.
Better and better. Have a great day.
Now that I have this to look forward to, how could I not?
He loved the way her words made him feel.
Looking around his living room, he realized that it could use some work. He’d never finished unpacking his bookshelves, and there was a pile of mail growing on a side table. He spent a couple of hours organizing the room and then realized that what was missing was a lamp. And maybe a painting for the wall.
He got in the car and headed to the furniture store he passed every day on the way to the office. After buying two lamps and a framed mirror, he stopped at the home improvement place for a couple of plants. Unloading these things into the sterile apartment Lily helped him find months ago made him realize that he had been waiting for something to change. This room had been a place to watch TV, to sit and wait for something to happen, to kill time before he went to work, or to Lily’s place. But now he wanted to make it warm and welcoming. He wanted Lily to come inside and feel like she wanted to stay. If not forever, at least for a couple of hours. He looked at the decorations and realized they made it feel like a home.
He checked his watch and hurried to the shower. She’d be there any minute.
When he was cleaned up, he heard music playing.
“Are you here?” he asked, even though he knew the answer.
“Hi,” she called. “It looks great in here. Come on. Pizza’s hot.”
He walked in and saw her sitting on his couch in her sweats, mouth full of pizza, and thought she’d never been more beautiful.
She gestured to the box and he helped himself to a slice, sitting on the edge of the coffee table facing her.
“Mm,” she said, swallowing. “This was at the door.” She tossed him a small, flat package.
He glanced at the return address and didn’t recognize the name. He put the package on the table.
“What are you doing? Open it,” she said, reaching for another slice of pizza.
“I don’t even know what it is,” he said, sliding it farther away.
“That is why,” she said slowly, as if she were explaining something very simple to someone who still couldn’t understand, “you need to open it.”
“You’re not much into delayed gratification, are you?” he asked, laughing.
“Surprised?” she said. There was something new in her smile. Something expectant. Flirty. Well, that was a bit of a surprise.
He picked up a second slice of pizza and folded it in half. “Okay,” he said, taking a huge bite. “I’ll open it,” he said through a mouthful of cheese and sauce.
She clapped and wiped her hands on a napkin. Grabbing the package, she held it out to him. Her eyes sparkled.
“Do you know what this is?” he asked, wondering at her excitement.
“Course not,” she said. “I just love mail.”
“You love mail? Like, ads and bills?” He watched her wiggle the package in her hands, making it dance as he ate another bite.
She sighed. “Nobody loves bills, weirdo. But getting a package in the mail? Even when I order it myself? It’s one of life’s simple pleasures.”
He made himself a mental note to send Lily something in the mail.
He brushed crumbs off his hands and tore into the padded envelope. The return address was New York. Inside was a rectangle of brown paper sealed with wax and tied with twine.
“That is so cute,” Lily said, fingering the corner.
Deacon slid his finger under the seal to break it open and let the paper fall. Inside was a book.
A photo book.
Of the wedding.
He tossed it onto the pile of mail on the side table.
Lily’s eyes were wide. Mood killed.
Only one thing to do now. Deacon pulled out another piece of pizza.
Lily watched him eat, her eyes darting every few seconds to the side table.
Finally, she asked, “Are you going to look at it?”
He didn’t say anything, just shoved another bite into his mouth and shook his head.
She fidgeted on the couch. “I can go, if you want to look at it alone.” She was doing her best to make this sudden awkwardness disappear, and he wasn’t helpin
g at all.
“I don’t want you to go.” His voice came out strange, strangled and weak.
She patted the couch beside her. “Come here.”
He moved over to the couch.
“Do you want to see?” She pointed to the side table, just in case he’d managed to forget where the book had landed.
“Kind of?” he said, not at all sure this was a good idea.
“Me too.” She stood up and picked up the book and sat beside him. Almost close enough.
The cover was a photo of the groomsmen, Deacon in the middle. The guys stood in a casual line, arms slung over each other’s shoulders, laughing. He watched Lily run her finger over his smiling face in the picture.
She turned the cover to see the pages. Photo after photo of Deacon and the wedding guests. Deacon and Emmett. Deacon and his parents. Deacon and Lily, dancing at the “reception,” eating dinner, greeting guests. Pictures the photographer had taken, and others that were obviously from guests’ phones—casual captures of the evening.
Lily made a small sound of happiness. “This is amazing,” she said. Then she turned the page. She gasped. The photograph had caught the moment Lily had walked down the aisle to tell Deacon the news. Lily, standing on her toes to whisper in his ear that Dahlia was gone. Lily, hand on his arm, head tilted toward him. He looked at his own image in the picture, gazing down into Lily’s face, his eyes full of trust and anticipation. The moment before.
Deacon stared at the picture. Every feeling from that day flew through him, past him. He felt the shock, the humiliation, the relief, and the exhaustion, and then they were all gone. His sigh cleared out all the past emotions.
Lily started to turn the page.
“Wait,” he said, putting his hand over hers to stop her. “Look.”
She looked. They looked together.
“I know I was there and everything,” he said, his voice strained, “but I didn’t know what I was looking at.” He slipped his finger along the image of Lily’s face.
Lily cleared her throat and sniffled. Was she crying?
He took his eyes from the picture and turned to face her. “Are you okay?”
Wedding Belles: A Novel in Four Parts Page 19